


Two Birthdays

by soafterr



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Birthday, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Mockingjay, Two Shot, grow back together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soafterr/pseuds/soafterr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss and Peeta celebrate their eighteenth birthdays post-war</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Katniss

 

**_May 8 th, two months after Peeta’s return_ **

****

I wouldn’t have even known if Greasy Sae hadn’t have mentioned it.

 

In the last few weeks, Peeta has arrived to breakfast early, before Sae comes in. Often times he stays after she leaves, and then we part ways for our afternoon routine. Recently, we even rejoin for dinner. It’s predictable. It’s easy to notice when he isn’t there.

 

“Is Peeta coming?” I ask Sae that morning.

 

She shrugs and starts putting breakfast together. My mind drifts off, wondering if I should check on him next door. He could be in the midst of a flashback…

 

“…won’t be as fancy as the Capitol stuff you’re used to, but Rooba got a hold of a lamb and I think I can imitate it, as best I can –“

 

“What’s that?” I ask, once I’m brought back to the present.

 

“Your dinner tonight, sweetheart. I thought it should be something special for your birthday. I’m hoping to put together some lamb stew, or as close to lamb stew as I can manage for now.”

 

 _Oh_. I’m eighteen today. I hadn’t even realized the month, let alone the date.

 

I’m an adult now.

 

I laugh to myself. I feel three hundred and fifty.

 

The front door opens and shuts. Peeta. As soon as he’s around the corner, I check his face for any signs of having a flashback today – exhaustion, confusion, anger. Sometimes even scrapes and bruises if it’s been particularly violent. Frequently, his knuckles will look red from gripping the back of a chair too tightly.

 

He looks okay, though. As okay as any of us can be.

 

Wordlessly, Peeta takes the seat across from me, and slides a plate I hadn’t noticed until now toward me. “Happy Birthday, Katniss.”

 

I offer a slight smile and unwrap the tin foil that covers the plate. Peeta has baked me a small cake, green and shrouded in an icing-made forest.

 

“Thank you,” I murmur. He doesn’t say anything back, but I’m sure he knows this is the first birthday cake I’ve ever had. We never had enough money for them growing up, and then last year I was on too strict of a diet with our training regime for the Quell.

 

Brusquely, Greasy Sae takes the plate right out of my hands and replaces it with a dish of eggs and bacon, mumbling something about how I can eat my dessert after dinner. I refrain from reminding her I am an adult and can eat whatever and whenever I want. She only has my best interest at heart.

 

Sae usually stays to have breakfast with us, but I notice she starts packing up as soon as Peeta and I begin eating.

 

“What’s the rush?” Peeta asks.

 

“Maybelle’s running a fever. I need to hurry on home and take care of her,” Sae replies, as she frantically tries to scrub the frying pan. I had wondered why her granddaughter wasn’t here today. Peeta must be missing his playmate.

 

“I’ll take care of it, Sae. I can clean it myself,” after all she does cook for us every morning; I’d like to contribute _some_ way. She usually brushes me off when I offer, but it’s a sign of her haste that she accepts. Hurriedly I add, “Tell Maybelle we hope she gets better soon!”

 

She thanks me and is out the door in a flash. Peeta and I continue eating in comfortable silence.

 

Halfway through breakfast Buttercup starts making figure eights between Peeta’s legs, a telltale sign that he is manipulating him for bacon. He learned weeks ago that Peeta was the easier target between the two of us for food. Or maybe he’s just doing it because the sun rises and sets with Peeta in Buttercup’s eyes.

 

We’ve warmed up to each other but apparently I can’t keep up with the kind-hearted blondes in my life.

 

The thought triggers a realization that feels like an actual blow to the stomach. I am a year older and Prim is not. My little sister will forever be months shy of 14. I will never celebrate another birthday with her. I hated birthdays, but she tried so hard to make them special for me, and I always rolled my eyes and told her to give it a rest…

 

“Katniss?” I distantly hear Peeta’s voice but I’m too lost in the grief. The sound of his chair being pushed out, and then his unmistakably footsteps, and then his voice closer, clearer, “Katniss?”

 

He pulls me into his arms and I don’t hesitate to sob into his shoulder. There have been a few moments like this since his return. I’ve even been there for him a handful of times. It’s just what we do.

 

After several minutes of crying, my breathing slows and the tears stop, and although I’ve calmed down, we don’t part. Peeta remains crouched by my chair, hugging me, stroking my hair. It can’t be a comfortable position for him with his leg but I’m not ready to let go.

 

Finally, I pull away and dry my eyes. “Sorry – I… thank you,” I whisper.

 

Peeta doesn’t say anything, and in the silence my embarrassment flares.

 

Until finally, “C’mon, I’m going to teach you how to make bread.”

 

***

 

Peeta manages to coax a few smiles from me during the day. One when he tells me about some of his childhood baking disasters. Another when Buttercup knocks flour all over him. And once when he’s so absorbed in his baking, so clearly content, that it’s hard not to smile.

 

Most of my creations look unappetizing, but Peeta succeeds in salvaging a couple. Despite there being much better options, we split one of the loaves I made.

 

My mother calls in the afternoon to wish me happy birthday, and though it’s an emotional conversation, I’m happy to hear from her. We hang up and I am again flooded with the depressing thought that I don’t have any family with me today, but when Peeta holds me through the tears, I am reminded, _no, I still have some family here._

 

When it’s time for Peeta to make door-to-door deliveries for those few who have returned to Twelve, he invites me along. He must sense I don’t want to be alone today. Most people are friendly, and I’m not sure how Peeta gets to everyone when he spends so long talking to each family individually.

 

The sun is setting when we get back to my house. Taped to the door is a note:

_Dinner is in the fridge. May’s still sick as a dog. Happy Birthday, let me know how you like the stew – Sae_

***

 

“You’re lucky I have stew to dip this piece of rock you call bread in,” Haymitch complains around a mouthful of dinner. Of course we’re eating one of the loaves I made. He jokingly coughs to emphasize how hard the bread is to swallow – only, it turns into an actual coughing fit.

 

“Please, whatever you do, don’t choke,” I quip, my tone drenched in sarcasm.

 

The three of us are nearly finished with our meals. Peeta gets up with the excuse of bringing the cake out, though I’m certain he’s just looking for a distraction for us to stop our bickering.

 

As he carries the cake over, I can’t help but smile at Peeta’s handiwork. And Peeta. It’s hard to believe how I would survive today if he hadn’t kept my mind off of things…

 

I catch Haymitch staring at me in the corner of my eye and my face drops. After a pause he asks Peeta, “Is that a rum cake?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then I’m not interested. Enjoy it yourself, lovebirds.”

 

He’s out the door before Peeta has cut the first slice.

 

I can’t exactly pinpoint why I am blushing.

 

***

 

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not up for it today, Katniss.”

 

“I know,” I tell him, pulling the book into my lap. “I want to do my father’s page tonight, if that’s okay.” He nods his head but his face still looks cautious.

 

We began working on the book two weeks ago. So far, Cinna’s page is the only one finished, although we add in more stories as they occur to us. The paintings Peeta has done are so real, I like to run my fingers over the bumps and imagine the dresses Cinna would design if he were still alive today.

 

We’ve done bits and pieces of Boggs’s page. We are still waiting on a letter back from his wife, hopefully enclosed with some photographs. We also started on Darius and Lavinia, but I could see the toll it was taking on Peeta to remember his time in the Capitol, so I insisted we take a break for a few days.

 

Which brings us to tonight. After dinner, I told Peeta I was ready to work on the book again. Given how difficult today has been, he was surprised, then apprehensive. But birthdays always make me think of my father and the memories are itching to be written out.

 

Late into the night, I tell Peeta about my father. The time he showed me the katniss tubers I was named after. The warmth he filled our house with when his returned from the mines. The first time he let me use a bow. The way he would carry me on his shoulders and call me the tallest girl in the world, until I was finally too big. The songs he sang me for whatever mood I was in.

 

“He used to tuck me in and give me butterfly kisses before I went to sleep at night,” I recall with a smile on my face.

 

“Butterfly kisses?” Peeta asks over the sketch he’s drawing, “What are those?”

 

I’m taken aback, but only for a moment. Certainly that witch mother of his didn’t show him any kind of affection.

 

“I’ll show you,” I scoot closer to him and pull his sketchpad away from him so he isn’t distracted. “Close your eyes.”

 

He hesitates, but after a moment he complies and shuts his lids. I lean my face in. Close. Very close. I can’t tell if it’s his breathing that picks up or mine. I stay there, frozen, inches from his face, for far too long.

 

Finally, I angle my head toward his cheek and blink repeatedly, brushing his face with my eyelashes. I feel him softly chuckle and my stomach twists in a way that has me pulling away from him, quite abruptly.

 

“That tickles…” His smile looks lighter, easier than it has for so long. “Can I try?”

 

I close my eyes by way of answering. And suddenly his face is there, the proximity startling. His nose brushes my cheek and I feel his hot breath against my jaw.

 

The fluttering of his eyelashes against my cheek has me giggling like a child. I try to squirm away, but Peeta holds me to him.

 

“No fair,” I gasp out between the laughter, “your eyelashes are longer than mine!”

 

He lets go and I pull away, both of us still snickering. As we calm down together, he holds my gaze. His eyes are clear, the complete opposite to the cloudy, confused look I saw in District 13. I realize we have been looking at each other for too long, and my eyes flit away, instead falling on the sketchpad in front of me.

 

Peeta has been sketching my father’s lake, based on my descriptions. It’s similar but this doesn’t quite capture its beauty and serenity.

 

“When it gets warmer, I can take you there,” I tell him, “You can bring your sketchpad and even your paints. You have to see it to get it right.”

 

He’s quiet for a moment, and then nods his head, “Okay.”

 

The silence is deafening, and I realize the late hour. Or early, depending on how you looked at it. Peeta has usually left to sleep in his own house by now.

 

Seemingly coming to the same realization I have, Peeta starts to stand up. “I guess I should go…”

 

My chest starts to fill with anxiety. I don’t want to face the nightmares without him tonight. I’m tired of sleeping alone. I do my best to keep the emotions off of my face and walk him to the door.

 

“Goodnight, Katniss.”

 

Just as he’s walking out the door, I grab his hand. He looks back, expecting me to say something, but the words won’t come. He must read my face, and know what I’m trying to tell him, because he nods his head and comes back inside.

 

We climb the staircase to my bedroom and I crawl into bed. When Peeta stays by the doorframe, I look at him expectantly until he follows me under the sheets.

 

I turn my head into his chest, the steady thumping of his heartbeat against my ear. I remember when his heart stopped. I haven’t heard it beating in so long. I realize we haven’t slept in the same bed in nearly a year. So many nightmares we faced alone.

 

Its soundless, save for our breathing, but I’m certain Peeta isn’t asleep yet. A thought occurs to me and I wonder why I haven’t asked him until now.

 

“Peeta,” I whisper, “what did you do for your birthday?” He’s a few months older than me, born on New Years Day.

 

He stays quiet and I wonder if maybe I was wrong and he is sleeping.

 

“I… was still in the psych ward… You were on trial.”

 

I press my face into his neck and hug him tighter. I can see him now, another year older, with no family, no friends, alone in a mental hospital.

 

I settle down, back against his chest.

 

Just before I drift off I murmur, “We don’t have to spend our birthdays alone anymore.”


	2. Peeta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two! :)

**_July 1st, four months after Peeta’s return_ **

****

There’s a bird’s nest just outside our window, and it’s the mother’s song that I wake up to this morning. With the window’s open, I can hear every melodious note she sings to her newborns. Though, her tune would be much clearer if Peeta wasn’t lightly snoring against my ear.

 

He’s on his side, holding me from behind, his body molded into mine. One arm is my pillow while the other is draped across my hip. I consider waking him up, but I already decided weeks ago today would be about him. I should let him sleep.

 

I count five deep breathes against my neck before I give up on being patient and turn over to wake him up.

 

“Peeta,” I singsong as I shake him awake. When he finally squints his eyes open, I get the mental image that he might have been the cutest toddler, waking up bleary-eyed from his nap.

 

“It’s Sunday,” he mutters groggily. “I sleep in on Sundays.”

 

“Not today,” I whisper back. “C’mon,” I say as I push him on his back and kneel over him, “I already talked to Dr. Aurelius about this, we’re breaking routine today.”

 

He rolls back over on to his stomach. The pillow muffles his words, but I still catch them.

 

“And he approved of this?”

 

“Of course!”

 

Or, well, he will. By ‘I already talked to Dr. Aurelius’ I really mean ‘I called his office late last night and left a voicemail, so we need to leave before his secretary calls me back this morning.’

 

He groans and turns back over, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes. For being on a baker’s schedule, he really enjoys his Sunday sleep-ins.

 

“ _Come on_ , Peeta, you – hey, wait,” I remove his arm and turn his face toward me. The sunlight streaming through the windows reveals a small patch of hair growing on the corners of his jaw. “You have hair here…”

 

Absentmindedly, I run my fingers over it. It’s soft. Very light blonde. I guess whatever his prep team gave him last year to stop his facial hair growth is finally wearing off.

 

“I noticed that,” he sighs and closes his eyes. At first I think its because he wants to go back to sleep, and maybe that’s part of it, but I realize I haven’t stopped caressing his face. Abruptly, I pull my hand away.

 

He opens his eyes immediately, and the dreamy quality of his face vanishes. “So. What do you have planned for us today?”

 

“I’ll tell you on the way there. Just get dressed while I get our lunches together.”

 

“Okay.” He gets up from the bed and stretches his arms up, revealing an inch of skin from his lower back. Running a hand through his hair, he adds, “I just have to get some more clothes next door.”

 

 _Funny that he still has anything left over there_ , I think to myself.

 

It’s a few minutes later when Peeta returns fully dressed and I’ve just about finished making our lunches. Although I forgot to ask him, he brings a loaf of bread for us to munch on for breakfast before we go.

 

We’ll need to keep our strengths up. It’s a long hike to the lake.

 

“Ready?”

 

“Ready.”

 

***

 

It’s the perfect day for this, really. Sunny, slightly cloudy, warm with a light breeze.

 

The walk through town is quiet. I expected Peeta to start asking me questions about where I’m taking him the moment we left the house but he seems to be quietly pensive.

 

Maybe it’s the lack of conversation that has me noticing it. The stares. In months since I’ve returned, people have slowly trickled back to Twelve to rebuild. There aren’t many of us. Of those who have returned, a good percentage of them came from other districts, hoping for a fresh start.

 

It’s those unfamiliar faces whose eyes are glued to us. The Mockingjay and her Star-Crossed Lover.

 

I realize then that our hands are threaded together. It’s such a natural thing for Peeta and I, I didn’t even notice when he took my hand. Or maybe I took his? It doesn’t matter. Whomever it was who initiated it, I end it under the burn of their gazes.

 

From the corner of my eye I see him look to me, but I shift my face toward the ground so he can’t see my embarrassment. He doesn’t make an effort to take my hand again, instead asking about our destination.

 

“It’s… I thought we could go to my father’s lake.” I chance a glimpse at Peeta. His smile tells me he understands what that place means to me, what it means for me to be sharing it.

 

“Thank you… I can’t wait to see it.”

 

Our hands lightly brush each other as we walk, and as soon as we are out of sight from the others I take his in mine.

 

***

 

“We’re almost there,” I promise him. “Let’s stop right here for water.”

 

The summer weather is still mild, but it’s always good to stay hydrated on a long walk. Plus, I want to give Peeta a break with that leg of his. He hasn’t complained once but I know it irritates him when he’s on his feet for long periods of time.

 

We find a fallen log and I pull out the water bottles from the picnic basket. As we drink, I absorb the silence of the woods. My hunter’s ears are trained to the slightest animal movements, though.

 

Peeta must be appreciating it too, because after a few quiet moments he tells me, “I can see why you like it here.”

 

I smile and turn to him. His eyes are focused on the forest and I suspect he’s imagining painting this. That reminds me…

 

“I brought some of your art supplies with us.”

 

He tears his eyes away from a squirrel in a tree to give me a surprised look. “You didn’t have to do that, Katniss.”

 

“I wanted to. Don’t you remember what I told you on my birthday?”

 

He grins and thanks me, as he searches my hunting bag to see what I’ve brought him. Good thing I just cleaned it, I would hate to ruin Peeta’s materials with the smell of blood – especially considering art is his escape from the bloody nightmares we face almost nighty.

 

With the mention of my birthday, I try to choose my next words carefully.

 

“I’ve been thinking about my birthday lately. You were…” I pause, searching for the words. “I’m – I’m so grateful for your friendship Peeta. Especially on that day.” I sigh. I just need to say it all at once. “And I’ve been thinking about what you told me that night, about your birthday… it just feels wrong. I know it’s not much, but today is technically your half-birthday. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to… do for you what you did for me,” I finish lamely.

 

He remains silent and I feel the heat rush to my face. This was a stupid idea. After a pregnant pause, he speaks up.

 

“You mean, celebrate my birthday?”

 

“Yes, and… make it as nice as you made mine.”

 

For a moment, all I can hear is the soft chirping of birds.

 

“Can I ask you for a birthday present?”

 

I look up from where my eyes have been glued to the ground. I hadn’t expected that. Although I don’t actually have a gift for Peeta, besides taking him here. He at least made me a cake…

 

“Okay.”

 

“Would you sing the Valley Song for me?” Before I get a chance to look surprised, Peeta adds, “My memory is a little fuzzy. I remember the day I first saw you, but I can’t hear your voice in my head. Although, I guess you won’t sound like that little girl anymore.”

 

“No I wouldn’t sound like her…didn’t you –” I clear my voice, embarrassed by what might have been caught on film at the time, “Didn’t you see me during the trial? Singing?” I’m certain I warbled every song my father taught me while locked in that training center. And I have no doubt the broadcast darted to me during the lulls leading up to my verdict.

 

Peeta thinks for a moment and shakes his head. “Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me watch it. He wasn’t sure how I would react…to either ruling. Haymitch gave me updates when he could.”

 

Before giving it too much thought, I close my eyes and croon out the lyrics that caught his attention all those years ago. And I recognize by the time I hit the chorus that all sounds of life have frozen in the forest.

 

The mockingjays have gathered and start to sing the first verse back to me. I wait a beat before I jump in, starting a canon.

 

When it’s finished, I glance at Peeta, and he looks… mesmerized.

 

The birds flitter off to continue about their day and the silence that follows is especially loud.

 

“Do you remember?”

 

“Yes,” he tells me, his eyes intense, “I think I do.”

 

***

All day we enjoy the lake, playing like children.

 

We mostly stay in the shallower parts for Peeta’s sake. I promise him by the end of this summer he’ll be able to swim. By the afternoon, I’ve taught him all the games my father taught me.

 

I drag Peeta out of the water and insist on eating lunch. He finds a large, flat rock that has absorbed much of the suns heat for us to sit on. Our underclothes are still soaking wet so we share a blanket for warmth. We talk and laugh, and Peeta ends up giving most of his lunch to a pesky duck. I feel bad for him, so we share an apple.

 

After we finish eating, Peeta gets absorbed in his art and I watch his sketchbook come alive with colors. Somehow, we eventually lie down together and I fall asleep on his chest.

 

When I wake, I judge by the sun in the sky that it is late evening, not quite sunset, perhaps 8:00. We lie there in silence for several minutes more, just listening to the sounds of our sanctuary. Peeta plays with the ends of my hair.

 

Finally, he speaks up, “The Reaping is in a couple days.”

 

I give a slight nod against his chest. The other reason I wanted to come out here today.

 

Every year the districts have come to dread July and what it brings to our people. It doesn’t matter that the Capitol swears the Hunger Games are over. It doesn’t matter that Paylor guarantees on this July 4th, no one will be sent to his or her death. It doesn’t matter that the television promises blanket coverage mourning all those lost by the 75 years of slaughter. It doesn’t matter. Because how can I trust them? And how can I just go about that day normally?

 

So, in addition to fixing Peeta’s birthday, I wanted a distraction for us. I wanted fun and happiness, knowing that this upcoming week would be hell for us. Peeta has delivered, but I’m disappointed that I haven’t done enough.

 

“I’m sorry this isn’t much. Of a birthday, I mean.”

 

“Katniss, this is the best birthday I’ve ever had. I was lucky if my family remembered each year… New Years was our busiest day at the bakery. Do you know how it felt to bake, decorate, and sell a dozen cakes and return to bed with stomach half-full of stale bread?”

 

I lift my head from his chest and expect to see his face sad. It’s not. He is truly happy, smiling that smile I’ve always liked. In my small way I’ve made today as special for him as he did for me. He looks young. I almost _feel_ young.

 

Without thinking much about it, I bring my lips to his. A moment of hesitation, and then I feel him kiss me back, brushing my lips with his tongue. We’ve shared a few chaste kisses born out of comfort after nightmares and flashbacks. We haven’t kissed this intimately since the beach.

 

In fact, we haven’t kissed quite like this ever. It’s slow. Soft. Careful. We take our time inhaling each other. Never have we had the time or the safety to do this.

 

Despite our scarcity of clothing, our hands remain shy. Mine rests just over his heart, feeling it thrum. The other snakes up to his jaw and plays with the fine hairs that have returned. Both of his rest on my hips.

 

I don’t realize how long we’ve been kissing until I feel the darkness creeping in. The sun is setting; we should leave now before it is night. Without word, I pull Peeta up with me from our rock, and move to get our stuff together.

 

As I slip my boots on, and Peeta buttons his shirt, he says, “Let's go home.”

 

And I think the woods get the slightest bit brighter, despite the descending sun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. My dog died and then I had writers block for a while. I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> *edit* oh yeah I stole the july 4th reaping headcanon from shesasurvivor!
> 
> follow me at soafterr.tumblr.com  
> also follow my sideblog dedicated to everlark fanart at everlarkimages.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> The second part will take place on Peeta's half birthday, as sort of a make-up birthday. I'm having a harder time writing that one than I did with this, so it might be a little while. I didn't want to post this until I had made some headway on the second part though. Hope you liked this :)
> 
> follow me at soafterr.tumblr.com  
> also follow my sideblog dedicated to everlark fanart at everlarkimages.tumblr.com


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